


The Consequences of Your Actions

by Sherlock1110



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Big Brother Mycroft, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Brotherly Love, Gen, Punishment, Spanking, Sulking Sherlock, Top Mycroft, submitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 07:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4598700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt; Spanking please? Sherlock being spanked by somebody (Watson, Mycroft, Lestrade) with aftercare. The aftercare is important. </p><p>So Sherlock stole Mycroft's ID to get into Baskerville, what did Mycroft have to say about that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Consequences of Your Actions

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by sherlockian4evr

Sherlock had been staring at the wall all day. John had gone out, Sherlock couldn't even remember where, and truthfully, he didn't really care. He was used to being solitary. He preferred being solitary, no-one to rely on or be relied upon, and no-one to interrupt his all-too-important thoughts.  
He sighed when he heard footsteps on the stairs. They were Mycroft's, too heavy for John, too casual for Lestrade. No doubt his brother had come to 'tell him off'.

“Hello, brother-mine,” Sherlock grumbled.

“Enough of the pleasantries!” Mycroft snapped, his umbrella thudding against the floorboards.

“You usually demand that I'm pleasant,” he pointed out.

“What the hell were you doing at Baskerville?”

“It was for a case, Mycroft, nothing doing.”

“Stealing my ID was not 'for a case'.”

“I stole it weeks back, brother dear.”

“Precisely. This case hadn't even been brought up when you stole it, no doubt at that meal mummy forced us to.”

Sherlock shrugged and rolled over in his chair, offering his older brother his back.

“Why do you think I sent Gregory after you?”

“I knew it was you, he wouldn't admit it!” The petulant detective actually sounded pleased with himself, even though he still remained facing away from the door.

“You're walking a very fine line, brother-mine.”

“I don't care, brother-mine. Now please leave.”

“What will you do if I don't? Tell mummy?”

Sherlock rolled over again. “Fine. Sit there, but I won't talk to you.”

In an instant Mycroft had dropped his umbrella to the table and grabbed his little brother by the scruff of the neck, Sherlock's pyjama trousers now visible beneath his dressing gown.

“You can't even be bothered to get dressed and you're supposed to be a Holmes!”

“I didn't have a choice about that. Still don't!”

“No. Or this.” Mycroft spun on the spot and dropped on the sofa where Sherlock had been laying moments before. He pulled his brother over his lap and swung his right leg up and over his back so he couldn't struggle. He pushed the dressing gown aside and began smacking Sherlock's arse in earnest.

Sherlock jumped at the first hit, but he didn't make a noise. The government official got into a rhythm, lining his hand up and hitting a slightly different spot every time.

After 10 hits, the consulting detective began to struggle again. His renewed attempt at escape was anticipated, though, and Mycroft grabbed his left arm, twisting it around and pushing it up his back. He held it tight enough between his shoulder blades to cease Sherlock's struggling immediately.

After 20 slaps, the younger man's shoulders curled in as he became more and more defeated; understanding his brother wasn't going to stop. He never once verbally protested; like he knew there was no point really and had only physically done so out of principle. Mycroft, although not much taller, had always been slightly stronger than the younger Holmes. Not that Sherlock would ever admit that.

The British Government didn't fall for Sherlock's defeat yet, it was too soon, so he didn't release his brother’s arm. They both knew he wouldn't until this was finished. Completely.

After 25 he began talking. “Did you think it was clever, Sherlock? Stealing my ID. How many other places were you planning on breaking into?”

He didn't receive a response, but then again he wasn't really expecting one.

He carried on, “Not only that, and this is the most important thing, you could have been hurt 'Lock! You could have been killed and then what would I do?”

That was when the trembling began beneath his falling palm. He had reached 32 now and still had no intention of stopping soon, Sherlock knew that. The submission from Sherlock then was more pronounced, his head rested sideways on Mycroft's knee as he continued to hold his tongue from the onslaught rather than hold his neck up. There was no point in any sort of protest now, Mycroft well and truly had the upper hand.

“If you had been killed, Sherlock, I would never have forgiven myself and if you had been hurt, John would never have forgiven me.”

Sherlock's trembling increased thrice fold at the tremors in the older man's voice. To hide the fact that his voice and stray thoughts had got the better of him, he quickly stood the younger man up. Sherlock knew better than to pull away. There would be more. He didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce the fact that his brother wasn't finished with him. Mycroft pulled his pants down and threw him back over his knee again.

There was already a nice shade of red covering the majority of the detective's arse. Where there were slightly pinker marks, Mycroft dropped his hand again and again until his whole backside was flushed the same colour.

After 50 smacks, Mycroft heard his brother sniffing softly, almost silently.

After 60, his hand was burning and he knew his little brother had learnt his lesson. He shook his hand out briefly and then used it to rub circles in his little brother’s back, hissing as quietly as he could at the contact. If his hand felt that bad now, he didn't want to even contemplate how sore his brother's arse was feeling.

He shifted Sherlock around and made him sit on his arse on his lap.

The younger man let out a little broken whimper and Mycroft's heart clenched to see the hurt, but more strongly guilt and shame as well as remorse.

Sherlock hadn't uttered a sound throughout the whole escapade. He never had in the past either.

Mycroft reached up and tucked his head under his chin, ignoring the tickles that his brother's hair created. He continued to rub his back even as Sherlock grimaced at the feel of the older Holmes' suit trousers on his abused flesh.

“Do you know why I did that, 'Lock?”

He nodded slightly. “I d-deserved it,” he sobbed.

“Yes you did,” Mycroft agreed, “but why?”

“I s-stole your ID, I-I broke into B-Baskerville.”

“What else?”

He shrugged and whimpered again as the movement caused his arse to shift. “I don't know, Myc, I'm sorry.”

“The most important thing of all.”

When no answer was forthcoming he answered for the younger man. “You could have got hurt, 'Lock, and then I don't know what I would have done.” Sentiment!

“I'm sorry, Myc, I-I'm really sorry. I won't d-do it again I p-promise,” he sniffed into his brothers shirt.

“I know, Lockie, I know. You just need to learn to think things through. Your actions have consequences and I really hope you realise that before you do something reckless again.”

“Y-You haven't thrown J-John over your knee.”

“A) You're my brother and B) he wasn't reckless. If he hadn't gone with you, you would have gone on your own. I'm glad he was there. He's always there and he always manages to protect you when I can't.”

When Sherlock fell quiet, Mycroft knew that the consequences of what could have happened had sunk in. With obscene strength he scooped his little brother up in his arms and carried him to his bedroom. He laid him down so he was on his front, his bruised backside throbbing untouched.

He headed to the bathroom in search for some cream, but halted when he heard a quiet, hesitant. “…Myc?”

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“Don't.”

With that one word Mycroft knew what he meant. He was the same as a child; he hated the idea of punishment, he hated the idea of a thorough spanking, but once it had been dealt he always knew he had deserved it and didn't want the pain eased. To Mycroft it didn't make sense. Why stay in extra, uncalled for pain? To Sherlock the reminder was part of the punishment and the less help he received to ease it, the longer it lasted.

The government official climbed onto the bed cautiously. He hadn't done this with his brother in so many years that he wondered how Sherlock would react. But he had called him Myc. Not Mycroft. Myc. That alone should have been an answer enough.

He settled himself against the headboard and slowly Sherlock shifted over. He wrapped his hands around his brother's waist and tucked his head into his leg.

The older man sighed and dropped his hand into his curls.

“Will you steal my ID card again, Sherlock?” His voice had the last traces of steel in it and if the right answer came from his little brother's mouth it would be gone completely.

“No, Myc. Honest.”

Mycroft exhaled loudly and leant his head back against the headboard, continually running his hand through the dark curls on his lap.

He stroked Sherlock's hair for so long that there was soft snoring coming from the younger man. He was caught unawares when the bedroom door opened to reveal John.

“Mycroft what-” He caught sight of Sherlock's reddened arse and he nodded in understanding. “Thank you,” he whispered.


End file.
